


I Don't Say A Lot Of Things

by queerhazeleyes



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Lack of Communication, M/M, Misunderstandings, Secret Relationship, except not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:25:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerhazeleyes/pseuds/queerhazeleyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras thinks his relationship with Grantaire is going strong. Grantaire thinks Enjolras is ashamed of him. </p>
<p>This is what happens when people don't use their words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Say A Lot Of Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guardyanangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardyanangel/gifts).



> Taken from [this prompt](http://queerhazeleyes.tumblr.com/post/115259377767/you-know-whats-great) on Tumblr, which I was so lovingly nudged towards.

Enjolras hummed a little, cleaning up the kitchen while Grantaire lingered over the last of his dinner. He’d been very quiet since coming over tonight, and Enjolras snuck concerned glances in his direction as he filled the sink with soapy water. “Are you okay?” he asked, starting to scrub at a pan.

Grantaire frowned at his plate, brow furrowed. “Just tired I guess.” A moment later, in a much softer voice—Enjolras almost missed it—he muttered “Maybe I’m tired of being your dirty little secret.”

The pan slipped out of Enjolras’ hands, landing in the sink with a clang and splashing greasy water and soap suds all over himself and the counter. Ignoring the mess and the spreading wet patch on his shirt, Enjolras turned to face Grantaire. His boyfriend was hunched over his plate, eyes screwed shut; he obviously hadn’t meant for Enjolras to hear him. “Sorry, I don’t—what?” Enjolras stuttered out.

Grantaire winced before slowly looking up, warily studying the look of confusion on Enjolras’ face. After a second he sat up, straightening his shoulders along with his spine. “I just. I don’t like lying to our friends.”

“I don’t,” Enjolras shook his head, bracing his hands on the counter behind him. “Why would you have to lie to our friends?” He’d heard the words Grantaire had said, but he was having trouble parsing out their meaning.

“Jehan asked me what I was doing tonight. And I couldn’t exactly tell them I was having dinner with you, could I?”

“Why not?” Enjolras was sure he was missing something obvious, and that put him on the defensive, temper seeping into his voice as he crossed his arms over his chest and began to glare.

Grantaire glared right back. “Well since you obviously don’t want anyone to know we’re fucking, I’m not going to blab. I might not like it, but I’m not that much of a dick.”

_Fucking_. The word slapped Enjolras across the face and his shoulders curled in just a little. He let a little more of his temper loose. “Why wouldn’t I want them to know?”

“It’s not like you’ve told any of them!” Grantaire spat.

“I—” He bit his tongue. He _hadn’t_ told any of their friends, he realized, shrinking in on himself as something like shame started to swirl in his gut. But it wasn’t because he was _ashamed_ , or whatever it was Grantaire was implying. It was selfish, probably, but he’d wanted some time to figure out this thing with Grantaire without their very opinionated friends getting involved. Then after a bit he’d sort of…forgotten they didn’t know. He hadn’t realized it was bothering his boyfriend so much, though now he thought he should have guessed. But another part of the argument was still nagging at him. “I thought we were dating,” he said, “not just fucking.” 

Grantaire let out a bitter laugh. “Apollo, we’ve never been on a date. We’ve never been out anywhere.”

Enjolras found he couldn’t refute that either. He’d thought it was nice, though, these quiet evenings in with Grantaire. He liked cooking, was getting better at it too, and he’d rather sit thigh-to-thigh with Grantaire on the couch than across the table from him at some restaurant. He spent so much time out, between his internship at City Hall and Les Amis meetings twice a week, so he often found himself looking forward to coming home and tangling himself up in Grantaire. “Oh,” he finally said. His body wanted to slump in defeat so he held himself stiffly, but he couldn’t keep the waver from his voice as he said “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

Grantaire seemed to be losing steam as well, from the way his eyes started darting around. “I should go,” he said.

_No_ , Enjolras wanted to say. _Stay, tell me how to fix this_. “If you want to,” he said instead. “Just—” He bit his lip.

“Just what?” Grantaire looked wary.

Enjolras swallowed, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach. “Can I kiss you one last time?” he asked.

Grantaire looked wrecked. For a moment Enjolras was afraid he would refuse, but then he stepped forward. Desperately Enjolras buried his hands in Grantaire’s hair, because if this was going to be their last kiss he wanted to pour every ounce of his feelings into it. Maybe it could even convince him to stay.

When they pulled apart Enjolras held him close for a beat and saw a wild, hurt confusion flash across Grantaire’s face. “You can’t do that,” Grantaire said, ripping himself away from the embrace. “You can’t—can’t just dump me and then kiss me like that. It’s not fucking fair.”

“You’re the one dumping me!” Enjolras protested.

“No I’m—you’re not dumping me?” There were tears in his eyes and Enjolras wrapped careful fingers around his wrist, as though that bit of contact would keep him there.

“Of course I’m not, R. I’m sorry, so sorry. I’ve screwed this all up, but please tell me how to fix it. I care about you.” That made Grantaire shake his head and shut his eyes tightly. “Please, Grantaire,” Enjolras begged. “I thought we were on the same page this whole time, only we weren’t, and that’s my fault. But I want to fix it. I want you to be my boyfriend.” 

“You’re not ashamed of me?” Grantaire asked in a small voice.

“God no.” Enjolras bit his tongue before he asked _‘how could you think that?’_ knowing it wouldn’t help. “I’m so sorry I made you think that,” he said instead. 

Grantaire shrugged, opening his eyes but still not looking at Enjolras. “I thought that was why we stayed in. That you didn’t want to be seen with me.”

“God, no. I just—things are always so hectic, with work and Les Amis, it’s been nice to spend nights in. And I like cooking for you. But we can go out!” With the hand not holding Grantaire’s wrist—he hadn’t pulled away, which Enjolras was counting as a victory—he pulled out his phone to check his calendar. “What about Friday? I could make dinner reservations at that seafood place you love.”

Grantaire made a quiet, strangled noise. “Okay,” he said.

“Good,” Enjolras replied, and tapped at his phone to mark out Friday night for ‘Dinner with R’ before setting himself a reminder to call the next day for reservations. That done, he tucked the phone back into his pocket. “What else?”

Grantaire’s eyes snapped up to Enjolras’ face at last. “What else?” he echoed.

“What else can I do to fix this?” he clarified. “You’d like for us to go out more; I can work on that.” A moment passed in silence while Enjolras thought and Grantaire gaped at him. “Our friends!” Enjolras said, remembering. He pulled his phone back out, flicking to his contacts. “I could just text them all, or I could call. Let’s start with Bahorel.” Before he could thumb the ‘call’ button, Grantaire surged forward and kissed him.

Enjolras fumbled the phone and managed to set it on the counter, safely away from the puddles of dishwater, needing his hands free so he could cling to Grantaire. The kiss was as desperate as the one Enjolras had initiated earlier, and Enjolras was breathless in seconds. He pulled away just enough to gasp for air and Grantaire followed, recapturing his lips and deepening the kiss. Enjolras’ left hand still held Grantaire’s right wrist almost delicately, but their other arms were wrapped around each other. 

When Grantaire released him, Enjolras took a couple deep breaths before asking “What was that for?”

Grantaire blushed. “For meaning it.” He rested his forehead against Enjolras’. “Were you really going to go through and call all our friends to say ‘So hey, I’m dating Grantaire’?” His smile was both shy and hopeful, and Enjolras pressed a quick kiss to it.

“I am,” he corrected. “I am so lucky to have you, R, and I’m not about to screw it up again because I’m shit at communication.” 

Grantaire snorted but didn’t lose the look of awe on his face as Enjolras proceeded to retrieve his phone and call Bahorel.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Enjolras is going to call every single one of their friends, and he's going to do it in alphabetical order. I imagine responses varying from "Fucking finally" (most of them) to "If you break his heart they will never find your body" (from Jehan) to "Well, yes, is this supposed to be news?" (from Combeferre)


End file.
